


Two hands; one beating heart

by LiveOakWithMoss



Series: Running on Fumes [6]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aftermath of traumatic injury, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fem!Every grandchild of Finwe, Gen, Guilt, PTSD, Rule 63, Self-Destructive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-20 17:39:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2437253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath, she runs. In the aftermath, she hopes she'll break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two hands; one beating heart

The sun streamed through the window of the hospital room, casting long shadows across the bed. Fingon stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment as Maedhros turned her head and caught sight of her.

“Hi.” Fingon’s voice was a whisper. She wanted to run across the room and throw her arms around Maedhros, but she was afraid of hurting her – and of the distant, removed look on Maedhros’ face.

Fingon made herself walk over and sit in the chair pulled up beside the bed. She twisted her fingers loosely in her lap, the too-long sleeves of her father’s sweatshirt falling over her hands.

“Your mom let me in.” Fingon didn’t add, _because if your father had been here, he would have thrown me out of the hospital._ She didn’t need to. She knew that Maedhros knew.

“Oh.” Maedhros was very pale, made even more so by the white sheets, and her vivid hair emphasized the lines of the bones in her face and the near translucent quality of her skin. To Fingon, so used to looking up at her tall cousin, Maedhros seemed almost disturbingly small and frail lying there.

Overcome by a desire to comfort, Fingon laid her hand next to Maedhros’ on the bed. Whether unconsciously or not, Maedhros curled her fingers away from her cousin’s touch.

 _Don’t cry_ , Fingon told herself. “How are you feeling?” she asked, desperate to say something, and regretting the question instantly.

“They told me to expect pain,” said Maedhros, not looking at Fingon.

Fingon felt her throat close up. _Don’t cry._ “Is it bad?”

“No.” Maedhros stared fixedly at the ceiling.

“That’s good – ”

“There’s no pain. There’s nothing. I can’t feel anything below my knee.”

“They must be using good pain meds – ”

“It’s not that.” Maedhros looked at Fingon finally, and her grey eyes were blank. “Something happened during surgery. They won’t give me a straight answer, but it sounds like there might have been nerve damage during the operation in addition to the break and tendon damage from the accident.”

Fingon went cold. “What does that mean?”

Maedhros turned her face away again. “Nothing good.”

She said nothing more for the next twenty minutes, as Fingon sat at her side, trying frantically to think of the right thing to say, until finally Nerdanel slipped into the room and murmured that Anairë was waiting.

“I’ll come back, okay, Mae?” Fingon whispered, reaching out to squeeze her cousin’s hand, but Maedhros tightened her fingers into a fist and still didn’t look at her.

“She’s just trying to come to terms with it all,” Nerdanel said, in an attempt at explanation as she walked with Fingon to the waiting room. “It’s been hard for all of us. But Fingon, I should have – I want to thank you.” She reached out suddenly and pulled Fingon into a fierce hug. “Thank you for saving my girl,” she whispered. “I know it might not seem – But we owe you so much.”

Fingon squeezed her eyes shut and refused to let herself break down against Nerdanel’s shoulder. Instead she just nodded and pulled away, and went to where her mother was waiting for her.

 

-

 

“Maedhros went home today.”

Fingon looked up sharply. “How do you know?”

Aredhel was sitting at the kitchen island, elbows on countertop, bent over her phone. “Celegorm texted me.”

“You two still text?”

Aredhel shrugged. “Mostly she texts when she wants to be a bitch to me, but sometimes it’s real stuff. Anyway. Yeah. Maedhros came home from the hospital this morning.” Aredhel broke off, looking up and half sliding from the stool. “Wait, Fin – Don’t be an idiot, her dad – ”

But Fingon was already out the door.

 

-

 

“Don’t even think about it.” Fëanor crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at her.

Fingon glared back at him and fought the urge to scream her frustration. “I just want to see her.”

“She doesn’t want to see you.”

“Did she say that, or did you?” Fingon started forward, but Fëanor was implacable, blocking the door.

“You have a lot of nerve, coming here,” he said softly. “After what you did her.”

“Excuse me?” Fingon’s voice came out higher pitched than she’d intended, but her blood ran cold. _What I did to her._

“You heard me. You cripple her, ruin her chances of a scholarship, of racing competitively in college – perhaps of even _walking_ normally again – and you have the audacity to come to our house?” Fëanor’s eyes were merciless. “You should be glad I haven’t brought a lawsuit against you. I may yet.”

“You think this is my fault?” Fingon was shaking now. Part of her, the part of her that was convinced it _was_ her fault, wanted to weep and beg forgiveness – but the rest of her was sizzling with anger. “That’s a fucking laugh.”

“Is it?”

Fingon looked up at her uncle, struck by how tall he was. _I’m just a stupid little girl. I’m small and I’m scared and I crippled his daughter._ But she ground her teeth and clung to the anger. “Do you want to know why she got hurt?”

“It was because of you,” said Fëanor coldly. “She wouldn’t have even been out there if it weren’t for you.”

“For such a smart guy, you say some stupid-ass things,” snapped Fingon. “If it wasn’t for _me?_ Why do you think she felt the need to sneak out to see me? Because of you, you and your ridiculous fucking rules. You want to know why we cut back along the tracks? Because of _you_. She was so scared of being late coming home that she was willing to _risk her life_ rather than piss you off. Do you get how fucked up that is?” Fingon spat the words, her fists clenched at her side. “Your daughter is _terrified_ of you. She’s more scared of your disapproval than she is of _dying_. Do you know when I saw the most fear in her eyes that day? Not when the train was coming at us – she was going to let it hit her, as long as I got out of the way. No, she was most scared when she looked at her watch and thought she might not be home in time. _You_ are the reason she snuck out. _You_ are the reason we were on the rails at all. You’re the reason she got hurt!” She stared him down. “And I will _never_ forgive you for that _._ ”

Not waiting for her uncle’s reaction, Fingon whirled and ran down the steps, nearly blind in her fury and grief, and when she started running, she didn’t stop.

 

-

 

Fingon ran, because there was nothing else she could do.

She ran the workouts during practice with grim focus, not speaking to her teammates, her sisters, or her father.

On the weekend, when there was no practice, and no meet, she ran on the roads – or tried.

Whenever she looked down at the pavement beneath her feet, she saw the rails.

_The rumble, the scream of the train_

“Keep running,” she whispered to herself. “You’re not on the tracks. You’re on the road.”

_The high, wailing whistle_

“No,” whispered Fingon, raising her hands to her face. She stumbled, and for a moment, bright, blazing panic whipped through her.

_It’s stuck –_

She pressed her hands to her face.

_Get out of the tracks!_

_Not without you!_

_The whistle, the rumble, the roar_

_The snap –_

_The scream –_

“No!”

She crouched on the side of the road, shaking, pressing her hands to her eyes until lights popped bright behind them.

_This isn’t working._

 

-

 

Roads were out. But the track -

 – she could run at the track.

And so she did. For hours.

Intervals. Ladder workouts. 400 at 800 pace. 800 at mile pace. 1200 at 5k pace. 800 at race pace. 400 all out. 200. 200. 100. 200. 200. 400. 800. 1600. And down again.

First she was drenched with sweat, and then the sweat stopped coming. Foam flecked her cheeks. Her mouth was so dry that every breath sent cracks down her throat, and when she finished her fourth 200, for the third time, she threw up, heaving bile onto the track. But she kept running.

It wasn’t until the arms caught her that she stopped moving, and it was only when she heard her father’s gentle voice that she realized she could hear at all, and that she was sobbing, dry, wracking sobs without tears.

“You need to stop, Fingon, please. Come on – no don’t stop moving, you’ll cramp. Walk with me, sweetheart. Try a bit of this water. I know, but get some down. Walk as slowly as you need to, but don’t stop just yet. I’ve got you.”

Something cool was laid against her neck, and her father’s arm was strong around her waist. Fingon realized she was shaking from head to toe, and as soon as she slowed she could feel her muscles cramping so painfully that she cried out.

“I know, baby, just walk a little longer and then we can sit. I know. Hang on to me. Try to drink a little more. Just a bit further.... You can sit now. I’m going to pour some water on a towel – here, put it against your lips. Okay? Now you can drink this, slowly. I’m going to rub your legs, okay? It’s going to hurt.” He spoke softly and unceasingly, telling her each action before he did it, wrapping his hands around her spasming calves. “Oh, my sweet girl. You’re going to hurt yourself like this…”

“Good,” Fingon choked.

Fingolfin looked up at her, his grey eyes – so like, and so unlike his brother’s – very sad. “You can’t heal her by damaging yourself.”

Fingon tried to sob, but she was too dehydrated for tears.

“You saved her,” said Fingolfin. “You did an amazing thing, Finno, don’t tear yourself apart.”

“I broke her,” said Fingon, in such a cracked, hoarse voice she hardly recognized it as her own. “I should have been able to free her without – Why was I so rough?”

“You had to be,” said Fingolfin. “You were so strong, sweetheart. You were so brave.”

“It was my fault,” said Fingon, and bit back a cry at the wrenching pain in her legs. “It was my fault that she was out there at all…”

“It was an accident.”

“ _He_ doesn’t think so.” Fingon lifted the water bottle to her lips again, her hand shaking. “He says – Dad, he says he might sue me…”

Fingolfin’s eyes flashed then, something bright and dangerous, but his voice was still gentle. “Don’t worry about that. He won’t.”

“But – ”

“ _He won’t._ ”

And something in his voice made Fingon believe him.

“Now,” said Fingolfin, and he stood and scooped her into his arms as easily if she was a child again. “Let’s get you home, my darling.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 0\. Snartha has made some [beautiful fanart](http://snartha.tumblr.com/post/98418641370/based-on-this-fic-by-imindhowwelayinjune) for this series. I highly recommend you check it out if you need to be cheered up and see our lovely girls in a much better place than this chapter leaves them!


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